I Brought You My Bullets, You Brought Me Your Love
by OtakuLibra
Summary: Based on a chapter of my story Mixtape, in which there's a war, the Enterprise is gone, and Jim and Spock are fugitives on Vulcan II. The title and inspiration for this fic comes from My Chemical Romance's first album.
1. Romance

**As promised, a continuation of "Demolition Lovers." There will be eight chapters following this one, the prologue. I promised answers, and here you have them. **

* * *

The communicator buzzes _again_, and his first thought is _doesn't anyone believe in sleep anymore?_ Thinks this even before he's really awake. Spock's hand shifts on his back, stroking down his spine.

"Captain."

_Fuck_.

Jim looks up at his First Officer, who is in fully-awake, completely-professional mode, even though he's got Jim naked and curled tight around him. Which tells him that, okay, it's time to get up and be a Captain now. Double fuck.

So he reaches over Spock and turns on the audio. "Kirk here," he says, voice edged with sleep.

"Captain—"

But Uhura doesn't have time to finish before the door is sliding open with a sharp hiss and Bones is storming in.

"What the fuck, Bones?"

Spock curls a protective hand around Jim's arm, which McCoy, to his credit, ignores. From the look on the doctor's face, though, it's only because the shit's just hit the fan.

"Jim, it's the Romulans."

_Triple fuck_.

Jim jumps out of bed, picking up his pants from where he'd tossed them to the floor the night before. "I need someone from Starfleet, preferably Pike, and the Ambassador," he barks into the communicator over whatever Uhura had been saying.

She stops dead. "Yes, sir."

Jim cuts the transmission and turns, away from Bones. "Spock…"

But Spock's expression has gone completely blank, eyes betraying only slight emotion. All right. "Bridge then."

Spock nods his assent, following Jim to the turbolift. When Jim reaches to press a kiss to his fingers, Spock pulls away. There is something very wrong out there. Something very, very wrong.


	2. You Must Keep Your Soul Like a Secret

_And as always, innocent like roller coasters._  
_Fatality is like ghosts in snow and you have no idea what you're up against _  
_because I've seen what they look like. _  
_Becoming perfect as if they were sterling silver chainsaws going cascading.._

_-"Vampires Will Never Hurt You", My Chemical Romance_

* * *

It takes Jim twenty-six years to realize that everything the shrinks ever told him, every time someone said how high his IQ was, how he was some kind of genius, that all of that was complete and utter bullshit. He does well on tests. He can think through puzzles, come up with unique solutions. He works well under pressure. But the problem is, Jim isn't omnipotent. He could manipulate the conditions of the _Kobayashi Maru_ in order to beat it, because it was a construct. It was there, and it was stagnant, and Jim could play with it. He could twist and turn and test it like one of those ancient Rubik's cubes.

Jim solved the Rubik's cube after a day of doing nothing but playing with it. He solved the _Kobayashi Maru _halfway through his first time taking it; the second was a test, of sorts, for his hypothesis. Jim is good at puzzles, okay?

But this?

Jim thrives on control. Not in a dominating way; he just needs to fix things. Needs to know he can change things, no matter what.

It's just that real life doesn't work that way, and the universe seemed bent on deluding him into thinking it does. After all those missions, all those successes… And Starfleet giving him the _Enterprise _wasn't a fluke: Jim is _smart_, and he's a capable, wildly successful commanding officer. He knows how to make people like him, as evinced by the fierce way his crew has about him.

It isn't his fault. Really. Sometimes, it honestly is, and those are the times Jim finds Bones and drinks for twelve hours straight. But this time, it really, really isn't.

This is a very difficult thing to make Jim understand when they are feeling the _Enterprise _come apart around them.

The bridge shakes, and there is so much _noise_, static and explosions and barked orders from the command chair. Uhura's voice cuts through the confusion, words inaudible but tone strong. Sulu's face is coldly intense, he and Chekov working in seamless tandem.

It isn't the crew's fault, isn't Jim's. They do their jobs, executing every task perfectly. Textbook. But this is no test, no _Kobayashi Maru_, no Rubik's cube to be tested and experimented with and tried again.

They do everything perfectly, and yet…

And yet, McCoy still bursts onto the bridge, jaw set and eyes steel, dragging Jim up by his arms and leading him toward the turbolift.

It takes Jim 4.30 seconds to realize what McCoy is trying to do. It takes that long for Spock to stand, leave his station, and approach Jim, who looks about to tear McCoy's head off. It takes that long for Uhura to look up, large, dark eyes a strange mix of sorrow and resolve that Spock will never understand but will always admire. It takes that long for Jim to look from her to McCoy to Spock and to fix them each with a glare that promises a death they are already likely to receive.

McCoy nods over Jim's shoulder.

"Forgive me," Spock whispers, .540 of a second before his fingers find the pressure point that sends Jim collapsing into Spock's arms. It is unlikely that Jim ever will forgive him, but right now there are more important things. So long as Jim is alive, Spock can live without forgiveness.

Spock lifts Jim's body into his arms, carrying him into the turbolift.

"Shuttle bay," McCoy orders, and the doors to the bridge slide closed for the final time.

When they open again, the ship rocks, sending the three of them careening into the bulkhead. Spock pushes back off the wall, following McCoy to one of the few remaining shuttles.

"All nonessential personnel we could get on shuttles are gone," McCoy is saying, typing command codes into a console. He pauses, voice going low. "It's not even a hundred people. Not even a quarter of the crew, but… Let him know that, Spock. When he wakes up. Tell him he saved someone."

Spock nods solemnly, ducking into the tiny opening of the shuttle pod.

"Spock?"

"Yes, Doctor?"

McCoy runs a hand through his hair. "I…. uh…. I mean… I'm sorry. For all the antagonism. You're a good friend. And… Just, take care of Jim, okay. Make sure he doesn't do anything stupid. Make sure he stays alive. Think you can handle that?"

Spock nods again, slowly. "I plan to, Doctor. However…" He pauses. "It will be… significantly more difficult without your medical expertise."

"Why Mr. Spock," Bones says, grinning, "I do believe that's an actual compliment."

And with that, the door slides shut and Bones is gone.

Jim does not see the _Enterprise _go down. He lies, still unconscious, in the shuttle pod. Spock sits cross-legged in the sand, somewhere in the desert of Vulcan II. He sees the final explosion, and for what feels like hours he cannot move his eyes from that place in the sky. The image, that last flash of color, burns itself onto his retinas.

Spock cannot say how much time has passed before he hears Jim's voice behind him.

"It was a trap."

Spock inclines his head, blinking away the shadowy image, his secondary eyelids sliding into place.

"Yes."

A long pause and stillness.

"And Bones actually thought I'd want to live."

The words hit Spock in the gut, his stomach twisting. He inclines his head further forward, feeling bile rise in his throat. He stands, more to avoid dry-heaving into the sand than anything else. When he attempts to put his arms around Jim, he flinches, backs away. His eyes are icy, cold and feral.

"It is not," Spock says, when he can find his voice again, "A matter of what you want. The crew wished for you to survive. It is you who is most likely to be of value in the coming conflict, should there be one. You… Most of the shuttles were destroyed."

Jim curls in on himself, eyes locked on the ground. "I said… General Order…"

"Yes, Captain," Spock says, taking a half-step toward Jim. "There was nothing else you could have done."

Jim laughs, long and loud. If there was any emotional response for Jim to have, this is not what Spock would have expected. "Bullshit, Spock. I could have _stayed_."

"Captain—"

Jim cuts him off, standing and taking a few steps away from Spock. "My dad."

"Captain?"

"I could have been my dad."

"Yes. You could have been."

"He didn't… It was a clusterfuck, a fucking no-win, and he found a win. They all—Almost all of them lived, Spock." His hands are fisted at his sides. Spock wishes, more than anything, to trace those fingers, to loosen his fists and _hold_. He is not certain Jim will not run, should he try. "But it's bullshit, anyway. I always said how I didn't believe in no-wins, but… I didn't really stop to think that if you don't win you _lose_.

"I would have gone for the no-win, Spock."

"I know," Spock breathes, speaking loudly as he dares.


	3. And if You Stay, All I'm Asking for Is

"High Command has refused your request for diplomatic immunity. They fear the Romulans." T'Pring's voice is low, her words calculated.

Spock sits on the floor, staring at his hands. Jim paces.

"So what the hell are we supposed to do now?" Jim says tersely, words dripping with vitriol.

"I suggest you gain transport back to Starfleet Command as quickly as you can," T'Pring says, expression unreadable.

Jim can't look at her, this tall, proud Vulcan woman. She reminds him of T'Pau, the consummate Vulcan, so perfectly logical. He wants to hit her. "What makes you think I can do that?" he bites out, eyes fixed on the large window far to T'Pring's right.

"Jim—" Spock interjects, a plea captured in dark brown eyes. Jim snarls at him, whirling around to punch the wall as hard as he can.

"Kirk," T'Pring snaps, more emotional than Jim can ever remember her being. "My son is resting in the next room. I would thank you not to wake him with overly emotional displays."

Jim can't be around either of them anymore. He's going to kill someone. He's going to find a motherfucking starship somewhere and go kamikaze on those goddamned Romulans, and no one is going to stop him. He'll—

"I gotta go," Jim gets out through gritted teeth. Spock makes a move to stop him, but Jim brushes him aside. "Get that goddamned transport and get off this planet, Spock," he says. He forgets—or chooses to ignore—that Spock, his stoic, logical XO, memorizer of all Starfleet regulations, doesn't give a shit about rules where Jim is concerned.

Still, it isn't Spock who finds him, an hour later, looking out over the desert of the Vulcan colony, watching its moon rise. Remembering that Vulcan didn't have a moon. It's disquieting, like an omen, a beacon of what should be.

"I should apologize."

"You don't mean it."

"That is not relevant. I should apologize."

"Look, I realize I can't impose Human standards of behavior. I'm not that insensitive."

"And I am not so rigid. I am willing to make concessions."

Jim sighs, placing a hand on the bench next to him, an offer. "Thanks, I guess."

"I suggest a compromise, Kirk. If I am willing to make concessions, I ask that you do the same." T'Pring takes the proffered seat with easy grace. He nods, still not looking at her.

"Sure."

"You must understand Spock's position," she says, slowly. "And mine."

Jim leans back on his hands, staring at the ceiling. "I'm _trying._ But no one's asked for my goddamn opinion. They make all these decisions without even asking me what I want."

T'Pring doesn't speak for a long moment, ordering her thoughts. "Spock cares for you, Kirk. You must know this."

"I _do_. But it doesn't change anything. _That's_ fucking irrelevant. People _died_, and who the fuck decided I deserved to live more than Bones? More than Uhura? Or Chekov or Sulu or the fucking ensigns who were incinerated in the Jeffries tubes down in Engineering because they were trying to save us? They all died because I was stupid and walked us into those fucking 'peace talks' without even thinking it might be a trap. They're all dead because I fucked up, and I'm the one who gets to live? Where's the fucking _logic_ in that, huh?"

"No one could have anticipated the outcome, Kirk. Not the Ambassador. Not you. Not Spock. You insist on placing the blame on yourself. This is not logical."

Jim can't sit still any longer. He practically leaps to his feet, pressing a hand against the glass of the giant window. "Fuck your logic," he mutters. "Logic doesn't change the circumstances. You're rationalizing."

Jim can almost hear the shrug in T'Pring's voice. He has no idea how she does that. "Perhaps. Speculation does not change circumstances either. I offered you my recommendation, and you rejected it. James Tiberius Kirk, man of action. Or so I have been lead to believe. And yet you linger here, doing nothing. Your crew saved you because they believed you to be the best hope for the Federation. You claim you feel for them, and yet you refuse to carry out their wishes. You sit here and _wallow_. I had thought you a more honorable man, Captain. Forgive my misunderstanding."

Righteous anger sears through him, white hot and acrid, burning its way through his insides. He fists his hands against the glass.

"Kirk—"

And it snaps. The fire drains out of him at the sound of her voice, replaced by icy calm.

"Fuck you, T'Pring," he says flatly.

"James Kirk," T'Pring says, taking it all in stride in that infuriating way she has, voice somehow managing to sound disgusted despite the lack of inflection. "You must be Captain James Kirk. Not this sniveling, cowardly specimen of all that is wrong with humanity. You must be Captain James Kirk, or you must stay here and die. It is your decision."

T'Pring stands, smoothly, holding her head high as she goes for the door. She glides forward a few steps, then pauses, turns to look at him with one elegant eyebrow raised.

"My bondmate, T'Laina, is an excellent cook. Should you choose to do the correct, logical thing, she will have a meal ready upon your return."

Jim decides the eyebrow is an evil, knowing smirk. God, he hates her.

But he hates her in the way he hated Spock in the beginning—he hates her because she's right, because she sees right through him and he isn't sure he wants some of those things seen.

Because T'Pring—like Captain Pike and Spock—dared him to be better than himself, and he can't back down from that.

So he does what she knew he would do. He goes back.

There's a little boy at the door when he returns, maybe about five or six, with brown hair and dark eyes. "_M'aih_? _Toz'ot _Spock?"

Spock appears first, scooping the boy into his arms and nodding for Jim to enter.

"_Toz'ot_?" he asks.

"It translates to 'uncle,'" Spock replies. "As _m'aih_ does to—"

"Mother."

It is T'Pring's voice, coming from a nearby corridor. The boy turns to look at her, then back to Jim.

"_M'aih, vi qual nash-veh_?"

"Standard, Sorek-kam," T'Pring admonishes, entering the room. "This is Captain James Kirk. He speaks little Vulcan."

Spock places the boy back on his feet, and he holds T'Pring's wrist. "I wonder," Spock says, a glint of affection and humor in his eyes, "why it is Sorek refers to me as _toz'ot_, as I am related to neither you nor T'Laina."

"T'Laina," T'Pring replies, speaking more to Jim than Spock, "is the Vulcan ambassador to Betazed. Sorek has picked up some… exotic mannerisms, so to speak."

"And I am glad of it, _ashayam_," says a pregnant Vulcan woman with hazel eyes and curly hair, who pokes her head out from what Jim assumes is the kitchen.

T'Pring's eyebrow raises a fraction. "Kirk, this is my bondmate, T'Laina."

"Nice to meet you, ma'am," Jim says, a little sheepish. He isn't used to domesticity like this, and… Well, T'Pring by herself is intimidating enough, okay?

"Same to you, James Kirk," T'Laina says, and Jim is pretty sure he can detect glimpses of emotion in her expressions, the way her tone varies more than most other Vulcans he's met (Spock, of course, as always, is the exception).

After the meal, T'Laina and T'Pring return to Vulcan High Command, and Sorek leaves with a group of children later in the afternoon. Jim doesn't know what to do with the emptiness, the silence. He stares at the sky, even when the sunlight burns his eyes.

"_T'hy'la_." Spock's voice behind him, low and soothing, the tone he uses after an away mission has gone awry. Jim feels hands on his shoulders, tracing his upper arms, sliding down his back. He steps away before they can circle around his chest.

"Don't, Spock."

And the hands are gone. Jim can feel the space between them as if it was a living thing. He wants to tell Spock to come back, but he can't feel that love, that comfort. Not know.

"Capt—Jim."

"Don't tell me you didn't anticipate this."

"What could you have done, Jim? Would you have gone down with the _Enterprise_? Would you have become your father, after such long avoidance? I do not believe that." Spock's voice is cold, not in the impassive Vulcan way; it is cold in a way that speaks of deep sorrow, the kind Spock has never been comfortable expressing.

"I could have at least tried."

"You would have died, _ashal-veh_."

Jim turns away from him. "And you're emotionally compromised."

"As are you."

Jim feels every muscle in his body go taut. "So what you're saying is, I need to forget that it was my fault almost four hundred people died?"

"No," Spock says, and Jim can hear the moment his emotions gain equilibrium again. It's too much. Jim slides to the floor, pressing his head back against the glass.

"You know, if this Starfleet thing doesn't work out, you and T'Pring should really try being motivational speakers or something."

Spock raises an eyebrow in acknowledgement of the attempt at humor, but his mouth doesn't move at all. Okay. So he's still a little worked up.

"Look, I get it, okay. I know what you and Bones were doing and I _get it_. But if that's supposed to make me feel any better—Mom never blamed my dad for what he did. It broke her, but she knew it was the right thing for him to do under the circumstances. Still didn't make things any easier."

Spock sits down next to him, making no move for contact but allowing Jim to rest his head on Spock's shoulder.

"I believe the Human expression is 'no one said it would be easy.'"

Jim sighs. "Yeah. So what now?"

Spock raises an eyebrow. "Are you asking for my recommendation as your First Officer?"

Jim is still for a moment, his shoulder rising and falling in deep breaths against Spock's own. "We don't have a ship anymore, Spock. I'm asking _you_."

"Rest, then, _tal-kam_. Tomorrow you will think more clearly." Spock rises, helping Jim up with a hand on his back, careful not to prolong contact. He leads Jim into the bedroom, watches as he slides of his boots and collapses into the mattress in his clothes. He hadn't realized how exhausted he'd been. Spock turns to go.

"Wait."

He turns.

"Don't—Stay, please."

Spock nods, sitting on the floor next to the bed, and watches Jim fall asleep.

* * *

**Why no, I don't have a thing for Vulcan endearments, why do you ask? (Much love to the VLD. It's saved my fanfic-writing life, let me tell you.)**

**Also, sorry for the lack of updates. I'm trying. I just started my new job this past week, and it has been craziness. I'll keep up with everything, though. Pinky-swear. **


End file.
